


Shall We Dance?

by lover_singer



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Fluff and Smut, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-10
Updated: 2016-04-10
Packaged: 2018-06-01 08:16:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,276
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6510166
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lover_singer/pseuds/lover_singer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It starts with Sherlock being bored.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Shall We Dance?

Five. Days.  Sherlock had been bored, outrageously so, for five days.  He could not muster the enthusiasm for a new lab experiment, and casework had been slow for a week and a half.  John didn’t seem perturbed, he noticed.  In fact, the doctor was enjoying a book, tapping his foot in the air to the soft music playing.  Sherlock glared at John’s foot, annoyed by the injustice.   _ BORED!  _  Sherlock abruptly stood and went to the window, looking around the street.  John hummed tunelessly, flipping a page of the insufferable novel.  Something caught Sherlock’s eye.

 

A couple came out of the pub at the end of the street, swaying and laughing.  They stopped and grasped each other tightly, and Sherlock winced.  He moved to get away from the window, but stopped, as the couple began to sway together, seemingly dancing to music he could not hear.  Sherlock could feel his jaw drop.  Suddenly, his brain began to work, and he glanced back at John. _  He may be unwilling… I may have to blackmail him… It would take approximately three weeks, four days, and six and a half hours to have him proficient… Song selection will be important...How to bring it up… _  Sherlock abruptly left his perch at the window, heading towards his room.  This caused John  to look up bemused, “Sherlock?”  He asked his retreating friend.  When he received no answer, he shrugged, returning to the book in his hand.

 

Approximately one hour and twenty three minutes later, John had closed his book and was locking up their flat, prepared to go to bed, when Sherlock returned to the living room, something in hand.  “What are you doing?”  Sherlock inquired, turning away from him, and turning on the small radio again.  John looked around their flat, checking for anything that needed tidying before bed.

 

“I’m a little knackered, was thinking of going to bed, Sherlock.”  The doctor answered, satisfied with his inspection of the room.  Sherlock turned around, eyes wide.

 

“No!”  John raised an eyebrow at the abruptness, and Sherlock continued, “I meant, please, don’t go to bed yet.”  John waited, wondering if there was a case or a clue of Moriarty’s where abouts.  When Sherlock didn’t say anything and was looking decidedly flustered, John cocked his head to the side.

 

“What is it, Sherlock?”  John asked.  Sherlock opened his mouth, but closed it again almost immediately.  After a moment of thinking, he opened it again.

 

“I’m bored.”  He stated, blue eyes boring into John’s grey eyes.  John sighed.

 

“Oh, yes?  And what exactly does that have to do with me?”  John asked, ready for Sherlock to drag him into something dangerous.  Then John noticed that Sherlock was in loose bottoms and a tee, with no shoes, so it couldn’t be that.  Sherlock turned again, and John saw an MP3 player in his grasp.  John’s eyebrows shot high upon his forehead.

 

“I’m going to teach you how to dance.”  Sherlock simply stated, finally turning around to him.  John snorted in laughter.

 

“Right, okay.”  He laughed, watching his flatmate for the sign of laughter.  When it didn’t come, and Sherlock only stared at him, John sobered.  “You’re serious?”  He asked, incredulous.  Sherlock nodded.  John swept his arms wide.  “Oh, come, Sherlock!  I am a rubbish dancer, you saw…”  He stumbled over the word  _ wedding _ .  They hadn’t mentioned the wedding, Mary, or the baby in a few months…  He didn’t feel like bringing it up.  Sherlock ignored the slip.  “Besides, that should be the one and only time a man has to dance…”  John shook his head, and Sherlock let his shoulders slump in mock defeat.

 

“All right…”  Sherlock mumbled, “I suppose I’ll just have to go follow a criminal around… Or go searching for Moriarty… Or find something to engage my mind…”  John glared at him.  Sherlock shrugged.  “I’m bored!  This seemed like something challenging,” Here John interrupted with an embarrassed grunt, “And something safe!”  Sherlock finished.  John sighed.

 

“Why couldn’t you do an experiment with the toe in the kitchen?”  John asked, resigned to his fate.  Sherlock grimaced.

 

“I didn’t feel like it!  Come on, John!”  Seeing John’s frown, he added,  “Please!”  John sighed.

 

“All right…”  He answered, pulling off his sweater.  His shoes had long been put away, and his bottoms were comfortable enough for him to move in.  Sherlock was positively beaming.

 

“Excellent!”  He exclaimed, and started pushing furniture out of the way.  John moved to help him, trying to steel himself against the inevitable jokes about his form, and the potentially uncomfortable situations.  Still, he found himself interested in what Sherlock wanted to teach him.  

 

“Mind you, I can’t be up all night!  I do have a shift at the Clinic tomorrow.”  John reminded, and Sherlock nodded, waving a hand dismissively.

 

“Yes, yes!”  He said, rolling his eyes.  “All right, shall we begin?”  He smiled again, and John rolled his eyes this time,  _ He’s enjoying this too much. _  However, John nodded.

 

“Good, good,”  Sherlock said, and he came to stand in front of John, appraising him for a moment.  John shifted under the gaze.  Sherlock had looked intensely at him before, but somehow, this was different.   _ He’s studying your body…  _ **_Shut up!_ **  Sherlock’s mouth moved soundlessly, walking around him, and finally he stopped in front of him again.  “Excellent,” He said again, and then stood tall in front of him.  “All right John, when dancing, you want to stand tall, but not rigid.  Steps can be in four or eight, or three or six, depending on the time signature and type of dance.”  He paused, knowing John didn’t know music as well as he, “Do you understand?” He inquired.  The doctor nodded, giving a slight frown.  Sherlock noticed his bottom lip jutted out.  “Oh come now, John, don’t sulk.  You’ll have fun.”  Sherlock said, and John felt his face grow pink.

 

“I’m not sulking… Just tired.”  He hinted, trying to guilt Sherlock.  Sherlock frowned at him.

 

 “Stop trying to get out of it.”  He replied and came to stand next to him.  John rolled his eyes, and looked sideways at Sherlock.  “Right, now hold your arms like this,”  Sherlock had one arm straight out, while the other bent its elbow, and had the forearm and hand poised, as if holding a partner.  John copied the action, and Sherlock looked for a moment, “Raise your elbow a little higher, that’s the ticket.”  He said, and then said, “Let’s do three sets of six tonight.  When you’ve got those perfectly, I’ll let you sleep.”  He grinned wickedly at John and John tried to protest.

 

“Sherlock, surely…” Sherlock grinned even wider.  As if he were hiding something.

 

“We have a schedule to keep, John.”  He said, and started forward into the first set.  John glared after him, watching the detective’s feet.

 

“Why, are we going into competition?”  He muttered, so Sherlock couldn’t hear.  He watched the steps being performed, and attempted them.  Sherlock gave pointers, and showed the step again.  John was grateful for, if nothing else, Sherlock was an apt teacher, and a patient one.  However, John was rubbish at dancing, and it took him another two hours and thirteen minutes before Sherlock would excuse him to bed.  John was able to put it to music for his trouble, and he felt quite proud at this accomplishment.  

 

As he sank into bed, checking that his alarm was set, he fell asleep immediately, a smile on his lips.  Somewhere though his dreams, he thought he could hear Sherlock play his violin, and it made his dreams turn to dancing.

…

 

Over the next week, every night, Sherlock and John cleared the living room again and again, learning new steps to the Waltz.  John was able to get through the dance quite easily on his own and Sherlock was very pleased.  After the third time in a row of watching John change certain steps or to a different tempo, Sherlock nodded.  “Right, now it’s time you practiced with a partner.”  John looked up in alarm.

 

“Who are you going to bring up here?”  John asked, thinking  _ I’m going to look like an absolute arse! _  Sherlock cocked an eyebrow.  

 

“I’m going to be your partner.”  He stated, as if the idea any other person was idiotic.  John spluttered.

 

“Y-you?”  He asked, feeling his cheeks get pink.   _ Oh Jesus, _ he thought.  Sherlock seemed unabashed.

 

“Yes, me! Who better to be your partner? I know the routine already and I’ll be able to tell instantly if you make a mistake.”  He snapped out, moving forward and reaching his hands out.  John backed away.  

 

“Sherlock,”  He tried to think of a way to get out of it.  He faltered and Sherlock raised an eyebrow.  “You said if I was able to get three practices in a row perfect, I’d be able to go to bed.”   _ Stalling… Yes, stalling, so I can think. _  Sherlock thought for a moment.

 

“So I did…”  John took this opportunity to retreat to his bedroom.  Sherlock called after him, “Tomorrow then!”   _ Yeah… Right _ .  John thought.   _ How do I get out of this? _

 

When he closed the door to his room, and started readying himself for bed, he heard the unmistakeable sounds of Sherlock pulling out his violin.  It was tuned, and John heard the Blue Danube (which he knew as a popular waltz) begin to play.   _ He is really enjoying himself…   _ He sighed.   _ Fine, Sherlock… Fine. _

…

 

The next night, when John returned to the flat, he found the furniture was already cleared away, and the kitchen table set up for dinner.  The radio had music playing, and John swore he smelt cinnamon and vanilla.   _ Did Sherlock clean?!  What the actual hell? _  His face turned bemused, as he hung up his coat, and he looked around the house.  “Sherlock?”  He called, not seeing the black haired man anywhere.  John went to his room, and put away his remaining effects from the day, and heard the doorbell ring.  He turned and opened the door, intending to go and answer, but was beaten by Sherlock. He couldn’t see him, but he heard the exchange between the detective and the delivery man.

 

John heard a whistle, then, “Damn, sir, you going to the Ballet or somethin’?”  John was puzzled, and heard Sherlock heave a sigh,

 

“How much do I owe you, again?”  He asked, avoiding the question.  The delivery man stated the total, and Sherlock presumably paid, taking the food.  Sherlock was closing the door, but the delivery man shouted though the crack,

 

“Your date is one lucky lady, sir!”  John stifled a laugh, and heard Sherlock grunt.

 

“Quite,” He muttered, then yelled up the stairs, “John, food’s here!”  And John heard the rustle of the paper bag, as he pulled out the food containers.

 

John gained his composure, and called back, “Right, I’ll just wash up.”

 

Sherlock was quiet until John had almost reached the loo, and then called hesitantly,  “I put some clothes in there… For you to change.”  Sherlock finished, and then promptly made extra noise in the kitchen.  John was bemused again.

 

“Change?” He mumbled.  He made it into the loo, and hanging up was a black tux with a white vest and white bow tie.  He blinked, turning to the sink, so he could wash his hands.  When he was finished, he began to take the clothes off the hangers.  His hands were a little shaky.   _ Sherlock… _  He thought, as he straightened his bow tie.

 

Finally, he walked out of the loo and down the hall to the kitchen.  He smelt the wonderful Thai food, and eagerly turned the corner.  He gasped at the sight that met his eyes.  Sherlock, tall and lean, standing by his chair.  His tuxedo was black from head to foot, and his hair messy as always.  His face betrayed nothing, but his blue eyes looked apprehensive. He watched John intently again.

 

“Does it fit correctly?  I couldn’t remember your measurements exactly…” Sherlock murmured, never taking his eyes off of him.  John felt his face get warm.  _  Damn it… _  He thought, and tried to meet Sherlock’s gaze.

 

“It fits fine, Sherlock.”  He said, moving to sit down.  Sherlock sat down at the same time.  Silence reigned for a few moments, before Sherlock broke it.

 

“Mrs. Hudson had some trouble with an alley cat.”  He stated, as he ate.  John laughed disbelievingly.  

 

“Oh, really?  Do tell.”  He asked, digging into his peanut noodles.  Sherlock did tell, in explicit detail of how the cat jumped in through her open kitchen window, and proceeded to get into her plants and baskets of knitting.  He, Sherlock, naturally went down to aid her, and ended up getting hissed at, scratched, and even bitten.  He already checked for rabies or infection, he assures John, and it causes the doctor to laugh.  They talk about John’s day for a while, and other meaningless things.  Their faces are red from laughter, and their plates are clear when silence rings clear again.  John looks down at his plate, a little nervous.

 

Sherlock scraped his chair back and offers a hand.  John feels like a child,  “Oh, Sherlock, do we really have to?”  He asks, blinking at him.  Sherlock rolls his eyes.

 

“John.” He says sternly, “It is the only way to test you and see if you’re ready for more difficult steps and dances.”  John doesn’t answer, but looked down at his hands.  They were shaking again.  “John,”  Sherlock’s tone has changed to soft.  John looks up, and Sherlock’s eyes are kind,  “Shall we dance?”  He asks, and offers his hand again.  John sighs, and takes his hand.  Sherlock pulls him up deftly, and is leading him to their make-shift dance floor.  Before taking their position, Sherlock pulls a small remote out of his jacket pocket and presses a button. Violins trill, and Sherlock pulls his arms into position.  John steps forward, and places one hand on Sherlock’s shoulder, and wraps one arm around him, hand landing on his back.  Sherlock is, of course, taller than him, so John’s hand is almost to the small of Sherlock’s back.  There is little time to ponder this however, because Sherlock counts them in, and they begin to move.  

 

They circle the room grandly, and John is concentrating on not stumbling.  He knows he messes up one step, which makes him get flustered, and he misses another step.  Sherlock leans forward slightly.  “John!”  He says urgently, and John looks up, surprised.  “Just look at me.  You can do it.”  They pause for a moment, right before their next set of steps, and John keeps his eyes trained on Sherlock’s face.  They move again, and John watches the detective’s face.  His smile is wide, and his head seems to sway the way their bodies do.  His eyes will close for a few moments, especially with trilling violins, and then they are open again, looking at John full in the face.  John is in wonder.   _ Brilliant _ .  He thinks.

 

The song slows in the last few bars, and Sherlock leads John into a set of spins, which make John’s head dizzy. When the song holds its last note, Sherlock guides John out of their embrace, so that he may stand by his side, as is customary.  John lets out a shaky laugh.  “Brilliant.”  Sherlock nodded,

 

“Excellent.”  He amended.  And a new song was starting.  He came to stand in front of John again, and John moved to comply.  “Faster, okay?”  Sherlock asked, and John nodded, “Try a new step.”  He murmured, watching the doctor.  John thought for a moment then grinned, nodding again.  John counted them in, and started to lead Sherlock around the room.  Sherlock is laughing, and John looks at him, questioning.  “I knew you’d pick this one.”  He said, leaning in closer.  John smiles, although his brain is overworking.   _ This is strange… I feel… strange.  He’s leaning closer…. _  His brain noticed every brush, and saw Sherlock’s eyes dilate slightly.  The song was ending again.  

 

Sherlock took over leading, and pulled John closer, spinning them again.  His eyes were different, shrewd, calculating.  His face was puzzled, and John wondered if he felt it too.  They were spinning still, and John was dizzy again, but he thought it was something else.  The ending note was sounding, and Sherlock guided John out again, their hands in the air like an arc.  They held that pose for a moment, staring at each other.  A slower, quieter song was beginning, one that John did not recognize, and Sherlock’s eyes got wide, dropping the doctor’s hand to turn off the radio.

 

John hadn’t moved, still watching Sherlock, his breathing slightly heavy.   _ It’s just the dancing.  Everyone gets winded after dancing. _  He told himself, watching Sherlock turn to face him.  The detective’s eyes were again calculating, and he was breathing hard as well.  Silence built up between them, like an invisible wall.  John couldn’t take it any longer.  He grunted, and put a smile on.

 

“Well, Sherlock, you successfully taught me to dance.”  He stated, his breathing returning to normal.  Sherlock masked his thoughts, smiling too.

“Indeed.  Now onto the challenging dances.”  He said, ticking off his fingers, “Rumba, swing, tango, bolero…”  John spluttered.

 

“But… but…” Sherlock looked confused at his protests.

 

“John, I told you I wanted to teach you to dance, surely, you didn’t think the Waltz was all there was?”  John shook his head in disbelief, and Sherlock took this as an answer to his question,  “Well, there you have it!  One night of break, then we start on swing!”  He answered.  John watched him wearily as he turned off the radio and turned to the hallway.  “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I am quite tired… I did clean the flat this afternoon.”  He stated, brushing past John to head to his bedroom.  

 

John stood in the living room, flabbergasted.  He sighed, and began to clean up after dinner, and move the furniture back to its spot.  When he was satisfied, he locked the door and turned off the lights, yawning.

…

 

Sherlock was sitting upon his bed, loosening his bowtie.  He thought and thought and thought.   _ What was that… John… _  He remembered how they had grazed thighs, how John’s hand on his back had slipped slightly, and how John smelled like musk, peanuts, and fresh soap.  Most of all, he remembered John’s smile.  The truest smile he had seen in months.   _ John… _  Sherlock went to the small framed mirror by his closet, and saw that his eyes were dilated.  He felt his pulse at his neck, and found it was elevated.   _ I’ve long since stopped physical activity… This is… Is what? _  He thought of Irene Adler suddenly, and remembered.   _ It’s… Attraction? _

 

His eyes widened in his reflection and he raced through his mind to find an alternative.   _ Euphoria...possibly… Drugs, no… No… No…   _ Some thoughts came and went so fast, that he just dismissed them.  The euphoria was also a long shot.   _ The only possible conclusion then… Attraction. _

 

Sherlock hung up the remaining of his tuxedo, and changed into bed clothes.  He listened for sound out in the living room.  It seemed John had finally finished tidying, and was heading to his room.  Sherlock was tempted to go to the living room again and play the violin.  He remembered what he told John, and resignedly laid upon his bed.  He stared for a long time at the ceiling, before finally drifting to sleep.   _ John. _

…

The Swing and the Rumba turned out to be a little safer for John and Sherlock.  There were less times where they were in close proximity, and the music was fast.  This kept their minds busy.  These two dances only took a week and four days, and Sherlock was ecstatic.

 

“Tomorrow, John, tango!”  He stated, turning around to turn off the radio.  John had begun to push the furniture in the living room back to its normal position.  He was thinking he was forgetting something.  It hit him.

 

“Oh, Sherlock.”   _ Did he sound disappointed? _  “I am working night shift at the Clinic tomorrow…”  He saw Sherlock’s shoulders droop slightly, and quickly said, “We can start tonight…”  _ Now he was eager… _  “If you have the songs ready, that is.”  Sherlock grinned.

 

“Of course.”  Sherlock paused in his movement, and pushed the chair he was holding back out.  John grinned in spite of himself, and turned to push the other pieces of furniture back out.  Sherlock had swept to the radio again, turning it on.  When John was ready, he came to stand by Sherlock’s side, prepared to copy his steps.  Sherlock turned and looked John in the eye.  His face was blank again, but his eyes betrayed him.   _ Is he...nervous? _  John shook himself mentally,  _ No, just tired.  Stop overthinking. _

 

Sherlock spoke again, “The tango is…” He paused, digging for the right word, “A communication.  It is difficult to teach the steps separate from a partner…” He looked at John and allowed John to come to his own conclusion.   _ Separate…  Oh.  _  John tried not to look embarrassed.

 

“Right,”  Was all John said, and moved so he was standing in front of Sherlock.  Sherlock nodded, and then wordlessly held up his hands in the proper position.  It was similar to the waltz stance, however instead of hands finding the shoulder, they found each other and were pulled out by a straight arm.  Sherlock and John were very close.  John felt himself swallow hard.

 

“Right,”  Sherlock repeated, and then looked down to their feet.  John looked down too.  “My left foot will step forward, so that means your right foot should step backwards. Then my right, with your left matching.  We’ll do a set of four, okay?”  He looked back up at John as he asked the last part, and John nodded silently.  Sherlock squeezed his hand once, and counted them in, “Five, six, seven, eight.”  John’s feet stuttered, but they made the set of four in a circle, and were able to make it back to their starting position.  Sherlock nodded in satisfaction.  “Again?”

 

John nodded in response, determined to get it perfect.   _ You also like the feel of his body against yours _ .   **_Shut up._ **  They moved together for another three sets, and Sherlock nodded again.  Their gazes lingered for a moment too long, and Sherlock cleared his throat.  “Right,”  he said again, and John looked away.  Sherlock cleared his throat again.  “Those are the basic steps…”  He paused,  “They’re almost like a chorus to a song, when dancing the tango, we always will return to those steps.”  John looked to him again.   _ Sort of like how we always return to each other, yes? _

 

_ Yes. _  Sherlock’s eyes were locked on him.  John again wondered if Sherlock could read his mind.  “Now then…”  Sherlock murmured and dropped their pose.  John stood stock still as his flatmate came to stand behind him.  “Remember what I said?”  John felt himself nodding, and Sherlock continued, “The tango is…”  John finished for him.

 

“A communication.”  He murmured.  He could feel Sherlock’s breath against his right cheek.

 

“Exactly.”  He whispered, and in two swift motions, he turned a song on, and then brought his arms around John.  John’s eyes widened, and the song trilled violins.  These violins were different than the waltz, with a higher intensity, and a driving pulse.  Sherlock’s left hand was on John’s right shoulder, moving down at an angle.  John felt his body follow the motion, wanting to turn around, but Sherlock’s right hand stopped him, and trailed along his back, so that he could come and stand at his side.  John reached for him, as a warm piano sounded, and found his hand on the detective’s waist.  He pulled Sherlock in front of him, having no trouble dipping him sideways.  He brought him up, spinning Sherlock to face him, and they were in each other’s arms, touches lingering.  Sherlock caught his eye, and they fell into their set of steps.  

 

_ Christ… _ _ Christ, Jesus. _  John was having a hard time thinking, his body was betraying him.  Sherlock was looking at him intently again, his eyes slightly dilated.   _ Oh Christ. _  John thought, and then Sherlock dipped him back, only one hand supporting him, as their hips connected.  There was a slight friction, and John gasped, already being brought back to Sherlock, so they may continue.  Their faces were close, seemingly on their own accord.  John’s body was betraying him again.  He switched their steps, so now he was leading, and turned Sherlock so that he was standing in front of him again.  He took Sherlock’s hand, and spun him around, Sherlock doing so on one foot.  John started to bend as Sherlock slowed, and John caught him in a dip, which landed him across one thigh.  Sherlock looked into his eyes, now determined.   _ A game?  Of what? _

 

Sherlock came away from the dip, and switched their steps again, coming to stand behind John.  He lifted John’s arms, taking his time to run his fingers against them.  John’s head tipped back at the touch, his eyes closing.  Sherlock’s face came close to him, as if asking permission, and as one, they took steps forward.  Still holding onto an arm, Sherlock allowed John to walk forward without him.  John looked back, and Sherlock with a sharp snap pulled him back, and they there were again, doing their set of four.  Again, their faces were too close.   _ Oh, christ… Sherlock.   _ John stared deep into his eyes, swallowing thickly.  Sherlock swallowed as well, but smiled deviously.  He spun John, and then stopped him suddenly, doing a variation of their set, taking his sweet time.   They seemed to melt into each other.   _ Sherlock.   _

 

“John.”  Sherlock whispered, and with one hand, he helped John bend a knee against his waist, and dragged him along the carpet.  John hissed, aroused at the control, the closeness, everything.  John was allowed to drop his knee, and was half-way through their set, when he was dipped again, his arms splaying past his head.  Sherlock brought him up and John’s hands dragged themselves up his chest.  Sherlock hissed at the contact.

 

The detective’s eyes turned calculating again, and he turned John again, bringing them front to back, Sherlock’s front, John’s back.  Sherlock pulled John’s right arm up, and his left hand found its way around John’s waist.  They walked forward as one, only taking a few steps before gasping, John turned again, performing their same set.  Sherlock’s breathing was also labored and John wondered vaguely if he was tired.  John slowed their steps again, and they melted into each other again.  They stilled, their faces too close, their breathing hot, heavy, and their eyes staring into each other’s.  The song had long been over, it seemed they had been moving without instruction.

 

John felt warm, and his body seemed to throbbing to the tempo of the last song.   _ Too close… So close… _  Sherlock was studying him, his forehead still resting against John’s.  John knew his eyes must be dilated, because he could feel his arousal deep in his stomach.  Sherlock opened his mouth, to speak, but closed it again.   _ Ask me. _  John thought, staring at him still.  Sherlock, as if John had spoken, opened his mouth again.

 

“Okay?”  He asked.  John felt a little flutter in his stomach.  He recognized it as disappointment.   _ Why on Earth am I disappointed? _  His face must have shown a bit of his thoughts, because Sherlock called his name softly, “John?”

 

John abruptly pushed away, taking care not to be too strong.  He looked away from Sherlock and mumbled, “Fine. Fine… I’m fine, Sherlock.”  On his name, he looked up at him, and met his gaze again.  Sherlock looked confused.  Silence lapsed between them, thick as a wall.  

 

John suddenly was aware of their appearances.  Sherlock’s hair had been mussed, as if John had been running his hands through it, which John dimly remembered doing.  His shirt, too was in disarray as if John had pulled and pushed at it.  Sherlock’s face and chest were pink, and John did not have to wonder if he was flustered to.  

 

John took another step backwards, shaking his head.  He didn’t know what time it was, but he knew that he needed to go to his room.  Away from Sherlock looking so… so…  _ bloody attractive. _ **_Shut up!_ **  “Goodnight, Sherlock.”  With that he rushed to his room, closing the door behind him.  He began to pace the length of his room, angry with himself.   _ Smooth, Doctor… You bloody coward! _ **_Shut up!_ ** He growled to himself.  His body heat was starting to cool, and he could feel his arousal start to ebb.  He ran his hands over his face, and laid upon his bed.  Staring at his ceiling for what seemed ages, he finally drifted to sleep.

…

 

Sherlock was left staring after John, listening to his bedroom door close and the starting of pacing.  He heaved a great sigh, and stared about the room.  He suddenly wondered if this was a mistake.  His eyes flickered about the bookcases and corners.   _ Moriarty could be monitoring us again.  Or worse… My brother. _  He allowed a small groan to escape his lips.   _ Dammit, idiot.   _ **_Shut up._ ** _ You should have taken more care… Should have experimented a different way _ .  Here he scoffed.   **_How exactly?_ ** _  You could have taken him to the bedroom… You’ve already searched there.  No cameras.   _ **_There’s no room in there…_ ** _  Who said it had to be dancing, exactly? _  Sherlock gave a huff, frustrated.   **_Honestly, one little taste, and that’s all you can think of now, is it?_ **

 

Sherlock began to rearrange the furniture, still thinking.   _ Approximately three or four days before he'll want to talk...  He will want deny it... Do I want to truly acknowledge it?  That will mean...  _ **_Several possibilities... Stay friends, unresolved tension... Become lovers, nothing more... Relationship, ends, bitterly... Relationship, together, bliss..._ ** _  So many ends, but no sure way to manipulate the outcome... _

 

He had finished putting the living room together, and began to head to his room.  A small voice in his head said  _ ‘He did look disappointed though…  Did he want more? _ ’   **_I can’t wait three or four days!  I need to know the outcome!_ **  Sherlock looked down the hallway, looking toward John's room.  He walked a few steps down the hall, but stuttered to a stop soon after.   **_No...No, no, no... Control... Give space._ ** Sherlock sighed and turned, heading to his room.

...

John awoke late the next day.  He was still several hours out from his shift, but as the events from last night replayed in his mind, he was sure he did not want to be at Baker St.  John sat up in his bed, rubbing his face and listening.  He was met with silence.   _ That can’t be right… _  Their flat was always a flurry of noise, if Sherlock was bored, he would be loudly sulking, or ranting.  When he thought, he spoke aloud, and played the violin.   _ No room for silence for a genius. _  John stood up and went to his door, opening it.  He peered out into the hallway, seeing nothing and hearing still silence.

 

“Sherlock?”  He called, with no answer.  He waited a few more moments, then turned back into his room.  He gathered his things for a shower, and entered the bathroom, preparing for the day.  His mind was blissfully blank as he showered, and he even made it out of the flat and down to the corner for a cup of coffee before Sherlock entered his mind.  His phone chimed, alerting him to a message.  As he hailed a cab, he reached and opened his cell.

 

**John.** _ Sherlock… _

 

With a sigh of irritation, he told the cabby his destination and closed the phone.  It chimed five more times in his short ride.  Once standing in front of the Clinic, he briefly checked the messages.

 

**John.  John.  John.  John. John.**

 

As he got settled into work, and seeing patients, his cell chimed 46 times.  He counted, because he was trying to not get angry.  He was only three hours into a night shift, but he asked for a break anyway, and found his way outside, so he could breathe fresh air.  He checked his cell.

 

**John.** _ Sherlock… 46 times!   _ Now he felt angry.

 

**Why?**  He text back, beginning to pace.  A chime came back almost immediately.

 

**If convenient, come home.**  John glared at the cell, turning to go inside.  It chimed again.   **If inconvenient, come anyway.  May be dangerous.**  He stared at the screen, and licked his lips.  

 

Moments later, John was hailing a cab, muttering, “Baker St., 221.”

…

When John finally made it inside the door, he looked around the flat.  Sherlock was sitting in his chair, hands under his chin, folded together as if in a prayer, as they always were, when he was contemplating.  He briefly looked up when John entered, then looked away, at the radio and the floor.  John closed the door, and dropped his things in a spare chair, starting about the apartment.

 

“Well, what is it?”  He asked, looking in the kitchen and behind doors.  Sherlock looked up, confused.

 

“What’s what?”  He asked.  John came to stand in front of him.

 

“You said ‘May be dangerous’.  New case?  Moriarty?”  He whispered the last name, eyes widening slightly.  Sherlock stood suddenly, and John and he were very close.

 

“No…” He said slowly, still confused.  John could feel heat start to rise in his face.  

 

“Why…”  John heard himself whisper.  Sherlock stared at him, unblinking.  John could smell Sherlock, he smelled the same as when they had tangoed.  Soap, musk, and black tea, Sherlock’s favorite.  John shook his head, and stepped back.   _ Now was not the time to get distracted. _  “Why?”  He repeated.  Sherlock breathed deep.

 

“What?”  he snapped out, “Be specific, John.”  His hands were mobile, he was frustrated.

 

“Why did you stop?”  John’s voice felt strangled.  That hadn’t been what he meant to say, and Sherlock looked surprised.  John barrelled on.  “Last night, why did you stop?”  Sherlock sighed.

 

“Too much risk…”  He stated, sitting, his hands going to their praying position as he stared at John again.  John gave a disbelieving sound.  He turned away, feeling as if he may punch Sherlock.  He didn’t hear him, but he felt him, coming to stand right behind him.  John looked at the floor, defeated.

 

“What do we do, then?”  He whispered.  He turned back to Sherlock, not waiting for an answer. Suddenly, he was angry. “Did you know,”  Sherlock was caught off guard again, and John continued, “Did you know what would happen?  Between us.”  Sherlock looked affronted.

 

“Of cou--”  He started, but John snorted.  Sherlock narrowed his eyes.  “I had a hunch…”  John ran his hand through his hair, and Sherlock snapped, “You went along with it, I’m not all to blame you know!”  John glared back,

 

“No, but you could have talked with me about it, couldn’t you!”  He raised his voice.   _ Dammit.  Only Sherlock gets me this way.  Damn him. _  Suddenly, pent up emotions were fueling him.  “You had a hunch, you say.  Did you know this all along about me then?  Was I just a long experiment?!”  John turned away again, and began to pace.  Sherlock spoke, quiet this time.

 

“John.”  John shook his head, continuing to pace, and Sherlock said again, this time standing in front of him.  “John.”  The doctor tried to go around him, but Sherlock grabbed him by the arms, effectively stopping him.  “John!”  John growled.

 

“What!”  He bit out, immediately regretting it.  Sherlock stood in front of him, eyes huge, and watery.  John could see his lip trembling, as if he were trying to hold in tears.  John released a huge sigh, “I-I…”  He felt his body start to relax, and he whispered next, “You’re the only one who does this to me.”  He was still staring at Sherlock, and at the admission, Sherlock gave a gasping ‘ _ Oh.’ _

 

And then Sherlock was kissing him.   _ God, help me. _  John thought, before kissing him in return, all the pent up emotion going into the kiss.  Sherlock had wrapped his arms around him, and John’s hands were pulling Sherlock’s shirt, pulling his body closer, closer.  They both sighed, full of want and need.  John’s hands were finding their way under Sherlock’s shirt, and with a sound like a small suction cup, they were separated.

 

“Wait,”  Sherlock said breathlessly.  John was still tangled in his arms, and he was dazed from their snog.  John ignored him for a moment, and moved, trying to reclaim his lips.  Sherlock moved his head, neck becoming exposed.  John went there instead, kissing and sucking.  Sherlock groaned, and John could feel Sherlock’s hands dig into his back.  “Wait,” Sherlock said again, fighting another groan, “I want you to understand…”  At this, John withdrew, confused.

 

“Understand?”  He asked, watching the detective.  Sherlock nodded, and pulled out the radio’s remote from his pocket.  Soft music began, slowly, and a single violin played a low mournful tune.  John felt the longing and the sadness.  Slowly still, the violin began to lift in melody, and it was like John was flying.  He didn’t recall hearing this before.  “Who is this?”  He asked, blinking.  Sherlock gave a small smile.

 

“You don’t recognize it?”  He asked, holding John close.  Sherlock’s blue eyes bore into his, and slowly, John realized.   _ Sherlock?  For me? _  Sherlock nodded, as if John had spoke aloud.  John gripped Sherlock tighter, listening as the music washed over him.  Sherlock whispered to him, “You were too much of a risk… I couldn’t see the outcome, so I tried to stay away… Then Moriarty came, and ruined everything.  I had to leave, and didn’t tell you because it was still too risky.”  John turned his head, trying to fight the anger and sadness welling up inside him.  Sherlock kept whispering, bringing a hand to John’s cheek, “Then we were together again… But Mary was there too.   _ You chose her… _ ”  Sherlock paused, pain in his voice, “So I stayed away again… Magnussen came, and ruined everything…”  John looked at Sherlock again, and Sherlock looked deep into his eyes, “And I killed him, because I needed you to be safe.  He was never going to stop…  On the tarmac…”  He tried to continue, but John shushed him.

 

“Sherlock, just stop.”  And John kissed him, slower this time, and softer.  Sherlock whimpered into his lips, and gripped him tightly.  John broke the kiss.  He made sure Sherlock was listening, then said, “You saved me.  You gave me life again, you  _ are _ my life.”  Sherlock seemed to have a huge weight lifted from his shoulders, and he was kissing John again, fiercely.  

The doctor and the detective let their hands wander, feeling backs, stomachs, running fingers through hair, holding onto buttocks, and any skin contact.  They swayed slightly in time with the music, kissing deeper, and holding tighter.  John's arousal warmed him again and against his thigh, he could feel Sherlock hardening.  The detective's touches were getting needier, and he shifted against John, which created delicious friction and made them both moan.

 

Sherlock pulled away and pulled out the radio's remote again.  He came to stand behind John, lips by his ear.  “Can I have a second chance?”. He whispered.  John didn't trust his voice, so instead nodded once.  Again, with swift movements Sherlock changed the song, then brought his arms around John.

 

_ Tango again.  This time you are not getting away from me. _  John found himself thinking as Sherlock dragged a teasing hand down his chest.  John turned with the touch and brought Sherlock into their stance, making sure there was plenty of contact between their bodies.  John heard the detective hiss when their groins made contact.  Sherlock took over leading and returned the friction, but abruptly brought John into a dip, trailing his hands up John's legs before resting for a moment on John's penis.   _ Christ! _  John thought and gasped.  Sherlock chuckled.   _ Oh damn him and his games. _

 

Sherlock brought him out of the dip, and John easily took over leading, trailing his hands along the detective's chest, to his back, to his arse.  He took steps away from his flatmate, staring him down.  Sherlock let out a low growl, coming forward to meet John again.  John put a single hand on his chest, lowering the other to one of his long legs, hitching it up around his waist.  Sherlock groaned, for John leaned in first, rubbing their cocks together before dragging Sherlock with him.  He dropped the leg when he heard the violins on the track began to trill faster.

 

They returned to their set of steps, but somehow the steps were sloppier, and they were melting again.  Sherlock's frame was draping over John, his eyes almost black from desire.  John allowed one hand to drop on Sherlock's chest, and he began to push Sherlock back, dropping the detective back into his chair.  “John, wha-” John didn't allow him to finish, for he leaned forward and kissed him again.  Sherlock gave a hum and his hand pulled on John's shirt, effectively bringing the doctor into his lap.

 

John's hands were running through Sherlock's curls and Sherlock's arms were wrapped tight around John, bringing him impossibly closer and closer.  Sounds were coming from the both of them, sighs and soft moans filling the flat, along with the music still playing.  Their kisses were becoming sloppier and both the doctor and detective were back to exploring the other man’s body with their hands.  Sherlock touched a particularly sensitive spot on John’s stomach, causing the other man to gasp into his mouth.  Sherlock took the opportunity to kiss along the doctor’s jaw line, and make his way down to the neck.  For once, Sherlock’s mind was silent.  That is until John regained a little composure and let his hands wander to Sherlock’s thighs, then cock.

 

_ Oh Christ…  John… John.   _ **_Bedroom?_ ** _  That’s moving a bit fast, don’t you think?   _ **_Apparently not for the doctor._ ** _  Oh… John.   _ Sherlock felt panic and longing fight within him.

 

Sherlock must have been still for a few moments too long, for John leaned back and looked at the detective appraisingly.  “Sherlock?  What is it?”  He asked, bringing Sherlock back from inside himself.  He mentally shook himself and started to lean forward, hoping to catch John’s lips in his again.

 

“Nothing.  Fine.”  He said, succeeding in capturing another kiss from the doctor.  However, John gently pushed him back, and stared into his eyes.

 

“Sherlock.  What?”  John asked, watching the detective.  Sherlock dared a quick look towards their bedrooms, and then refocused on the doctor.  Thankfully, John was much more observant of people and their body language than Sherlock gave him credit for.  John understood immediately.  He leaned in to the detective, placing a hand on his sharp cheek.  “We don’t have to do anything you aren’t ready for.  You can always tell me if I cross a line.”  John whispered, leaning his forehead against Sherlock’s.  Sherlock let out a breath he didn’t know he was holding.

 

“I-I’m ready.”  Sherlock whispered.  “I-I…”  Sherlock faltered, and John waited patiently.  “I just didn’t want to push you if you weren’t ready.”  He said in a rush, and John let out a soft moan.

 

“Oh, Sherlock.  I’ve been ready since you asked ‘Afghanistan or Iraq?’”  He murmured, and then John was kissing him fiercely again, pulling Sherlock by his shirt so they were close again.  Sherlock had moaned into the first kiss, feeling his cock jump at the thought of John wanting him all this time.  Sherlock abruptly gathered John into his arms and stood, causing the doctor to let out an unflattering yelp.  Sherlock gave a low laugh and kissed him again, carefully carrying him to his bedroom.  

 

Things sped up, and quite suddenly, the pair found themselves naked, with John straddling Sherlock, and trailing kisses down his chest.  Sherlock watched as John came closer to his cock, and his whole being seemed to explode when John took him completely in his mouth.  He let out a dirty moan, one that John echoed as he began to suck and tongue Sherlock’s cock.  From their prolonged session in the sitting room, Sherlock was already very close to cumming, and his sounds must have alerted John in some way, for the doctor released his cock with another sound like a suction cup.  He grinned when Sherlock whined a bit, “John, please don’t stop!” 

 

“No, I think, I’ll have you cum another way.”  John murmured, and trailed his kisses along Sherlock’s thigh, moving his mouth past his bollocks to his entrance.  He tongued inside Sherlock, causing the detective to buck his hips and make a strangled gasp.  John smiled and continued his work, widening Sherlock’s opening, and feeling his own cock jump and leak at the sounds Sherlock made.

 

“John…  John.  I need you inside me.  Please, please John.”  Sherlock whimpered, bucking his hips again and again as John fluttered his tongue inside him.  John pulled away and looked deep into Sherlock’s eyes.

 

“You’re sure?”  He murmured, using a finger to tease and also expand Sherlock’s opening.  Sherlock gasped again.

 

“Yes, God yes.  John get inside me.”  Sherlock gasped out, and John grinned, plunging another finger in, so that it would be as comfortable for the detective as possible.  When he felt confident in his stretching, he gently pulled his fingers out and lined himself up with Sherlock, rubbing the tip of his cock against his partner’s fluttering opening.  Sherlock moaned again, grasping the sheets and arching slightly.  John took in the sight.

 

“Gorgeous.”  John murmured and kissed Sherlock’s thigh, causing the taller man to open his eyes and watch his movements.  Their eyes met, and John pushed inside of Sherlock, causing both of them to gasp and moan.  John knew he wouldn’t last long, and he knew Sherlock was very close as well, from the desperate movements and his sounds.  As he moved slowly, John felt the tightness and warmth and had to close his eyes to keep himself from coming undone right then.  He quickened his rhythm slightly, and Sherlock’s gasps became more more erratic.  John opened his eyes again and met his flatmate’s gaze.

 

“John… Please.”  He whimpered, and it seemed that there were so many things behind his request.   _ Faster… more… everything… stay… _  John let out a gasp and came forward, so that he could rest his hands on either side of Sherlock’s head.  He gave Sherlock a long kiss, and then began to move faster, gripping the pillows and sheets to keep him from crushing the detective with his weight.  The both of them were gasping and moaning, and after a few more strokes, John felt himself tightening and his stomach warming.  

 

“Sherlock… I-”  He choked, and Sherlock was nodding frantically, his own voice stuck in his throat.  One, then two strokes and John was cumming.  He rode out his orgasm, and watched in awe as Sherlock came too, his cum painting both of their stomachs.  They were left gasping and John was collapsing to Sherlock’s side, after carefully pulling himself from inside Sherlock.  After a few moments of getting their breathing under control, John reached on the side of the bed, pulling up one of their pants to clean both of their stomachs.  

He dropped it on the floor once he was satisfied, and moved his hand to his side, looking to Sherlock’s face.  The detective had his head turned, watching him with his ever calculating eyes, and his lips slightly parted, as if in question.  John smiled, and leaned forward again, kissing him.

 

“What is it, detective?”  John murmured, staring deep into the blue-green orbs.  Sherlock licked his lips and let out a shaky breath.

 

“Alright?”  He whispered.  John took in Sherlock’s stature.   _ Relaxed, but something underlying… Fear?  Doubt?  About sex?  Or…   _ Sherlock was watching him intensely.   _ Ah, about me.  Doubt or fear about my reaction. _  John reached a hand to the sharp cheeks of Sherlock, and sucked in a deep breath.

 

“William Sherlock Scott Holmes, that was amazing, and as I said before, you’ve had me since the beginning.  From the moment I met you, I loved you.”  He said the last bit the quietest.  Sherlock’s mouth dropped open in another silent ‘ _ Oh. _ ’  Sherlock turned on his side, pulling John to him and putting his head into the crook of John’s neck.  Hot breath mingled with a wetness and it took a moment to recognize that Sherlock was shaking.  John gathered the taller man in his arms.  “Oh, Sherlock.”  He whispered, planting a kiss on the top of his curly head.

 

After a few moments, John felt Sherlock relax and his lips move against John’s neck.  John heard it, but he didn’t believe his ears.  “What?”  He murmured, gently pulling him back.  Their eyes met again, Sherlock’s eyes a little watery.

 

“I love you.”  He whispered to John.  “I’ve loved you as long as you have loved me.  Why didn’t we say anything.  Why didn’t we do anything?”  His last question was in anguish.  John shushed him and brought a hand to Sherlock’s cheek again.

 

“It doesn’t matter.  We’re together now.”  John murmured, and he kissed the detective again.  His own eyes were watery, but he gathered Sherlock up gently and with strength.  They kissed long and slow, Sherlock groping at John’s chest and arms.  John deepened the kiss, and he felt himself start to harden.  Sherlock moved closer, and John felt his arousal against his thigh.  He sighed and pulled away, looking into the detective’s eyes again.  

 

Sherlock smiled, letting out a small laugh.  “Again?”  He asked, raising an eyebrow in question.  John laughed too.

 

“Oh, god yes.”  He said, and with that, Sherlock covered his mouth with his and rolled on top of the doctor.

...

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you guys enjoyed it as much as I enjoyed writing it.


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